


Loss

by MostFacinorous



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Angst, M/M, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-27
Updated: 2013-08-27
Packaged: 2017-12-24 19:47:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/943947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MostFacinorous/pseuds/MostFacinorous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Listeners, you know I hate airing dirty laundry here, but it seems that Night Vale’s two least favorite citizens have been seen—UGH, I can hardly stand to say it, but as a journalist it is my duty to tell you that Steve Carlsberg has apparently shacked up with none other than that awful scientist, Carlos. Gross. I am going to need an awful lot of help getting rid of that mental image. And so, without further ado—our sponsor…”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loss

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Only Thing They Took Away (When They Gave You Back)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/942847) by [PrussianInAmerica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrussianInAmerica/pseuds/PrussianInAmerica). 



“Listeners, you know I hate airing dirty laundry here, but it seems that Night Vale’s two _least_ favorite citizens have been seen—UGH, I can hardly stand to say it, but as a journalist it is my duty to tell you that Steve Carlsberg has apparently _shacked up_ with none other than that _awful_ scientist, Carlos. **Gross**. I am going to need an awful lot of help getting rid of that mental image. And so, without further ado—our sponsor…”

-*-

Carlos was shopping at Ralph’s, the way he did between crises these days, when he ran into Old woman Josie for the first time since he and Cecil had begun dating, almost a month ago. He gave her a smile that faltered under the weight of her squinting eyes and sour grimace.

“You going steady with Cecil now?” She asked. His eyes widened, and he wondered if he was about to discover that Night Vale was a good deal less okay with homosexuals than he’d supposed. It wasn’t as though Cecil had made any secret of his orientation for the last year, though, so…

“I… yes ma’am.” He responded, going for as inoffensive and noncontentious as possible.

She squinted harder, if at all possible, and her lips firmed into a thin line, before she flashed him a sunny smile.

“Good. You take care of that boy. Treat him right, you hear me? He deserves nothing but happiness from here on out.” A tall figure that seemed to blink spastically in and out of existence and from shape to shape moved to stand beside her. Carlos tried not to focus on it and assumed that it was one of the Erikas.

Old woman Josie moved as if to leave, then paused.

“If you hurt him, there’s not a soul in this town will forgive you. You’re forewarned. His last wasn’t so lucky.”

He felt his eyes widen, but before he could piece together words, they had left.

“What…” He muttered, and decided to finish his shopping, despite the creeping feeling of worry that had settled in. Not for himself, of course—he had no intention of ever harming Cecil’s feelings. But, he wondered what ‘his last’ had done that would warrant that kind of warning. He didn’t know how to ask. Didn’t know if he even should. Surely Cecil would tell him…?

-*-

The old woman with no face who lived in Cecil’s house had spent a great deal of time listening to him swoon and sigh and babble on about beautiful caramel skin and smoky oaken tones, perfect hair and gorgeous teeth and _Carlos_.

She didn’t understand, then, why all of a sudden that had changed into him crying himself to sleep most nights. Not the sudden sobs of someone who had had his heart broken recently, either-- there was no sharpness to his sorrow.  No, this was the kind of deep despair of someone who had been beaten down by time, like water wears away stone. This was abject loneliness.

“Sometimes,” she heard him whisper, the confession meant perhaps for her ears, perhaps for the government bugs or the secret police stationed under the window. “Sometimes I think I’ll never find anyone. I don’t think anyone else has been alone for as long as I have, here. What is so wrong with me…?” His mouth worked a little bit more, but no further words emerged. Which was just as well, probably. She was confused, and the confusion was giving her a headache. But even that wasn’t strong enough to distract her from the sympathetic ache in her chest. Poor Cecil.

She wasn’t sure how it happened, but she had seen it before. She waited until he was asleep and turned on his computer, careful to leave his browser open with several tabs of videos of kittens frolicking, in the hopes of that cheering him up enough to get him out the door in the morning.

It had been a long time since he had needed to wake up to kitten videos.

-*-

“Listeners, you would not believe—the _nerve_ of this guy, just walking in here this morning. I’m not sure how he got my number, but he hasn’t stopped texting me for the last week—I had to file call blocking forms, and then he just _shows up_ like he owns the place. And he brought _flowers._ Doesn’t he know about the delicate ecological balance of Night Vale? None of these look even remotely indigenous. In fact, I would hazard that Fiona’s Flowershop doesn’t even carry these. I bet that _Carlos_ went and spent his money on them in _Desert Bluffs_ just to further prove his failings as a good citizen of Night Vale. Taking what little good he could do in this town out of the economy and giving it to those dirtbags in the next town over. Well, _Carlos_  if you like Desert Bluffs so much, maybe you should move there. We certainly would _not_ miss you around here. Ugh. And now, the weather…”

-*-

 

It was probably a few months into their relationship, when he finally found an opening to ask about it. Rico had come out to personally deliver their bowls of toppings and sauce, and he patted Cecil’s shoulder while glaring at Carlos.

“He treating you good?” He asked, and Cecil had laughed easily and assured the much larger man that, yes, he was. Because he was perfect.

But when Rico had left them to their date, Carlos shook his head.

“Cecil… why does every one in town think I’m hurting you? What… did someone do something… your last boyfriend, maybe?” It was hard to get out, and maybe this wasn’t the best place for it, but this had been his opening.

Cecil had stared at him, then flushed.

“I um… I haven’t had a boyfriend since I got back.” He said.  “From my European backpacking adventure. When I was … well right out of school. So, no. No uh… last boyfriends. I guess it’s probably…. The show’s pretty popular, you know? They’re probably all just big fans. Protective. That’s all. It’s a small town.”

It was the first time that Carlos had ever felt like Cecil might be lying to him. The first discordant note in an otherwise beautiful song—so he let it go. He was probably uncomfortable. Maybe he didn’t want him to know.

Carlos had had a friend who had been abused by her husband for nearly a year before anyone found out, and when they did, she’d explained that she was afraid of being labeled ‘damaged’.

That night, when Carlos took Cecil to bed, he re-explored every inch of his body, covered him with touches and kisses and tastes… not only to prove to Cecil that he wasn’t broken, but to prove the same thing to himself. But he didn’t find anything. Not a scar, not a poorly healed bone, not a soft spot… nothing.

So he kept in mind that this was Night Vale. Not everything was what it appeared. And no matter where you are, some hurts are internal.

-*-

Cecil watched in horror as Carlos raised a machete over his head, and began trying to smash his way through the heavy locks on the gate to the DogPark. He could see the hooded figures fluttering around them, simultaneously herding the majority of the townspeople and reacting to Carlos’s daring and likely suicidal attempt at rescuing them.

“Cecil!” He heard him calling, and his voice would be beautiful and welcoming to Cecil’s ears, if only the circumstances weren’t so terribly dire.

“Carlos! It’s okay… go home! Get away from the dog park!” He yelled back. But the Hooded figures near him seemed to snatch the words out of the air; they died moments from his lips, and he knew Carlos hadn’t heard them. Not that he would have listened if he had.

Beside him, Mayor Winchell made a break for it, and was summarily dispatched by a figure, who then fell upon her corpse to feast. The others followed suit, crazy with their hunger. It allowed several things to happen at once: the rest of the town ran for the gates, Carlos managed to break through, Cecil tried to shout another warning to get Carlos to leave, and one Hooded figure reacted to Cecil’s noise.

As everyone streamed past him and through the gates, Cecil could only watch in horror as the Hooded figure drew in close, lifted Carlos above the heads of the crowd, and broke him as though he was of no greater substance than a popsicle stick.

The hooded figures left the park, their robes dripping blood and their screams an ungodly level of loud. They ignored the broken man beside the open gate, and the living one beside him with tears and blood coating his face.

Cecil, in turn, paid no attention to Hiram McDaniels’s perfectly timed appearance, or the way he used his flame breathing head to escort the hooded figures back into the park.

All he noticed was the weight—dead weight—of Carlos in his arms, as he trudged through town to the chambers of the City Council.

-*-

 

The first time Carlos met Steve Carlsberg, he was talking heatedly with Teddy Williams. Teddy seemed unimpressed with the man, but as Carlos drew closer, he couldn’t help but overhear his ranting.

“—let him get that close! Do you have any idea what would have happened if the Apache Tracker hadn’t been the one to—“

But it was no good; Steve’s voice faded and stopped when Teddy’s arms uncrossed and he angled his body towards where Carlos approached.

He looked relieved, as though Carlos had saved him from some fate worse than death.

“Don’t you mind Steve, Carlos—he’s just headed out now. Are those the plans for a containment unit for the wee warriors?”

He agreed that they were, and was surprised that, instead of a shoulder check, which he’d half expected from Steve on his way out, as Cecil’s boyfriend, instead Steve stopped, gripped his shoulder, and stared him hard in the face.

By now, Carlos was starting to get used to it.

“I won’t.” He promised, a little surprised at the person he was saying it to, this time. But Steve seemed to understand. His eyes softened into something almost sad, and he nodded, let go of Carlos’s shoulder with a pat, and left.

“Well. That was weird.” Teddy piped up. “So. How much longer am I gonna need to pay the militia to keep the little boogers down there?”

-*-

After it all fell apart, Steve found him.

He would have been happier—would have been content, just to be left alone with his misery. A few more days, and it would have been a toss up whether he packed up and left or just killed himself. He didn’t understand. He loved him… so much.

But Steve was there. He wanted to sneer at him, so he did. He was rude, he was horrible—he acted like exactly the sort of person that Cecil now accused him of being, the sort of person he had always been sure he was, underneath the praises that Cecil had rained down on him. It seemed the jig was up.

Until Steve explained.

Steve sat him down and told him a story.

A story about two people who had been so in love, so happy, so comfortable, so _perfect_ together, and how one of them had died.

And the other had given all of the love he had for the dead lover to bring him back.

And how Steve had returned to life, but how Cecil had no capacity to feel anything for him any more but shades of loathing and disgust.

And then Steve told Carlos about the attack from the DogPark.

And Carlos wept with understanding.

-*-

“Listeners, today the most wonderful thing has happened! A Seismologist has come to Night Vale. He is a glorious Adonis of a man, with his blonde hair and his blue, blue eyes. They are so blue, bluer than the Helicopters that circle to tell us that all is well. My heart beats with the same rapid whirring sound. His name is Charlie, and he came to the studio today to ask me if I had any records of the earthquakes here. I told him _of course not_ because, like, I mean… we don’t get earthquakes in Night Vale. Duh. The confused look on his face was so adorable. He gave me his number and asked me to call him if I remembered anything, or if any of you had any pointers you might like me to pass on. I don’t mind saying, Night Vale, that as he passed the paper over to me, our hands touched, and I fell in love _instantly._ ”

-*-

The first time Carlos’s lips found Steve’s, a hole opened in his chest. He wasn’t Cecil. Warm hands stroked up his arms, one clasped around his neck, but no fingers tangled in his hair. Even if they had, they would feel wrong, too blunt. Too thick, and short. Steve wasn’t Cecil.

Steve looked pityingly at him, when Carlos asked him to help shave him bald, but he didn’t comment, for which he was grateful. As the dark and silvery curls fell to the floor around him, he was reminded again how much Steve wasn’t Cecil.

And when they held one another in the bed they shared at night, and Steve’s breaths evened out, and his arms were too thick and his smell too musky, Carlos took some degree of comfort in knowing that he was just as much not-Cecil to Steve as Steve was to him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> If soul crushing pain is your cup of tea, let's be friends!~  
> You can find me at MostFacinorous.tumblr.com!


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